


lemongrass

by wearing_tearing



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bubble Bath, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8058262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/pseuds/wearing_tearing
Summary: “Hi,” Natasha says, right before she sneezes into Sharon’s favorite red quilt.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sproings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sproings/gifts).



> crossposted from [tumblr](http://hawkguyz.tumblr.com/post/150503629311/for-the-domesticityintimacy-prompts-number-5)!
> 
> and thank you to myladyday for the quick beta <3

Sharon knows something is wrong as soon as she steps into her apartment.

She grabs her service weapon, putting her purse on the floor and closing the door as quietly as she can, eyes quickly scanning her surroundings. Nothing seems out of place, but her gut tells her something is _not right_ , and she knows better than to ignore a feeling like that.

Aunt Peggy made sure to teach her to always trust her instincts, and she’s not about to stop now.

Sharon walks on light feet through the living room, gun in hand, clearing each and every corner of the place and making as little noise as possible. There is no one in the living room, kitchen, office, and guest bathroom, which leaves only her bedroom left unchecked.

The door is ajar, not open like she left it before going to work. The sight is enough to make Sharon tense, and she prepares herself to shoot first and ask questions later. Whoever it is that broke into her apartment won’t leave without a fight. Not if she has anything to say about it.

Except when she kicks the door all the way open and cocks her gun, no attack comes.

Instead, Natasha Romanoff looks up at her from under a pile of blankets on Sharon’s bed, her nose almost as red as her hair, eyes glassy, and chapped lips curled into a small smile.

“Hi,” Natasha says, right before she sneezes into Sharon’s favorite red quilt.

**

Sharon fights back a smile as she lowers her gun and flicks the safety on. “How was St. Martin?”

“Lovely,” Natasha answers, and Sharon wonders how she can sound so dignified with a stuffy nose.

It’s not exactly a surprise to find Natasha here. It’s not the first time she’s broken in, either to make use of Sharon’s Netflix account or steal one of her bath bombs and take a bath. But Nat usually makes herself known, either by leaving her shoes by the door or her clothes lying around, so Sharon doesn’t accidentally end up shooting or punching her.

“Seems like it.” Sharon tilts her head to the tiny mountain of tissues in the trash next to her bed, opening her nightstand drawer and safely putting her gun there before closing it again. “How are you feeling?”

“ _Lovely_ ,” Natasha repeats, sniffling.

Sharon watches her in silence for a few seconds, handing her another tissue when Nat sneezes again.

They both know Natasha is lying. They also both know how much it means for her to let herself be seen like this, how much trust it takes for her to share this part of herself, when she’s sick and vulnerable and in need of comfort.

This is Natasha asking to be taken care of _without_ asking, and Sharon will do her best to give her what she needs.

So Sharon watches her and smiles, her hand finding Nat’s over the blankets, tangling their fingers together.

“We’re going to take a bath,” Sharon tells her, stomach flipping at the way Natasha’s expression softens a fraction. “And then we’re going to put on some comfortable clothes, drink tea, and cuddle.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Natasha replies, squeezing Sharon’s hand.

“I can throw in a scalp massage, if things are too boring for you.”

Natasha’s smile, when it comes, is slow and small and genuine. It speaks of a hundred different feelings and thoughts, just in that little curve of her lips. It makes Sharon’s heart beat faster, knowing Natasha thinks her worthy of seeing it.

“You have a deal,” Natasha says, and doesn’t resist when Sharon pulls her away from the bed.

**

The water is green and warm around them, the scent of lemongrass in the air as Sharon gently runs her hands over Natasha. They’re in the tub after Sharon unceremoniously dropped a bath bomb into the hot water, Natasha is sitting between Sharon’s legs, back to chest, wet naked skin pressed together, their hairs up in messy ponytails.

“This isn’t awful,” Natasha murmurs, shivering a little when Sharon presses a kiss to the back of her neck, Nat’s hair tickling her nose.

“That’s good,” Sharon says, hands trailing up and down Natasha’s thighs, not looking to start anything, just for comfort. “Feeling better?”

Natasha hums, letting her head fall against Sharon’s shoulder. Sharon kisses her cheek, once twice, before moving over to place a kiss to the corner of Nat’s mouth.

“A little,” Natasha admits, relaxing even further into Sharon’s arms.

They stay like that for a few minutes before Sharon grabs a loofa and starts gently washing them both. Natasha is pliant against her, eyes half-lidded and breathing through her parted lips, looking a little less like death and a little more like herself.

Sharon makes sure to grab the fluffiest towels she owns to pat themselves dry, and then they’re both slipping into pairs of sweats and big comfy hoodies. Sharon even goes as far as giving Nat her fuzzy duck socks, kissing the tip of her toes once she’s done.

“Cute,” Nat says, wiggling her toes in Sharon’s hand, her eyes bright and filled with mirth.

Sharon grins. “That’s why I bought them.”

Together they move to the living room, Nat dragging two of Sharon’s blankets and a box of tissues with her. She’s still sniffling a little, but sounding a lot less congested than before, which Sharon takes as a win. That still doesn’t stop her from bundling Nat up tight and pushing her down on the couch, making sure she’s comfortable before flicking the TV own and queueing up _Star Trek_.

“You know what I like,” Nat comments, sounding immensely pleased and also a little touched.

“You’re the one who made me watch it in the first place,” Sharom reminds her, dropping a kiss to the top of Nat’s head.

Nat tilts her head up, lips ghosting over Sharon’s chin and jaw in barely there kisses. “You should thank me.”

Sharon snorts, tugging at a loose strand of Nat’s hair before letting it fall back against her face. “I’ll be right back.”

**

Natasha is slouched on the couch, when Sharon gets back, blankets going up to her chin and nose still a little red, eyes glued to the TV. She makes a little appreciate noise as Sharon hands her the steamy mug of honey lemon tea, bringing it up to her face and breathing the scent of it in.

Or at least trying to. She’s not that successful, with how sick she is.

“Here.” Sharon gives her a tissue, sitting down beside Nat with her own mug as Natasha blows her nose. “Feeling better?”

“Almost,” Natasha says, and scoots closer to Sharon on the couch, throwing a blanket over them both and tangling their legs together.

Sharon wraps an arm around her shoulders, fingers twirling Nat’s hair between her fingers. “And now?”

“Acceptable,” Nat mumbles, taking a sip of her tea.

“And how about this?” Sharon leans in and capture’s Nat’s lips in a kiss, soft and chaste and tasting of honey.

“Good,” Natasha says against her lips, “but it’ll get you sick.”

“You’ll take care of me,” Sharon replies, and then leans in to kiss her again.

**

Two weeks later Sharon wakes up to sore muscles and a runny nose.

On her nightstand are a box of tissues, flu medicine, and a steamy mug of tea.

Beside her, Natasha is lying on the bed, a book on her lap, and a small smile on her face.


End file.
